


This Life

by cute_will_kill



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, M/M, References to Suicide, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-15
Updated: 2013-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-25 14:59:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/640072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cute_will_kill/pseuds/cute_will_kill
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A week after Sherlock's death John gets a letter from the genius himself. He can't bring himself to read more than a couple of lines of the letter and folds it up, putting it in a box under his bed. Every month he gets a letter but doesn't open them. What happens when Serlock returns to a John clueless about how he feels?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's Such a Time To Be...

_John,_

_If you are reading this then- at the risk of sounding cliché- I am dead. I'm sorry about that; for the hassle it'll cause you. I hope one day you can find it within you to forgive me for leaving you-_

John folded the letter back up numbly; not able to read more, it hurt too much to be reminded of the genius.

The letter had come a week after Sh-the detective's death. At first he had thought it was a harsh joke from one of Sherlock's enemies or doubters. If so it was truly cruel. But eventually the draw became too much and he broke. He tore open the letter dying to read it- no needing to read it and then hadn't been able to cope with how _Sherlock_ the whole thing was, how it sounded.

He made sure the letter was folded neatly and then put it down and going to find an empty box to put it in. He then went and tucked the box under his bed hoping to never open it again; he was already close enough to breaking down; he didn't need an extra push.

: :

He pointedly did not think about the box again. Did not wonder what else was written in that letter.

The truth was he couldn't without wanting to go into the genius's room and curl up on his bed inhaling deeply.

How could you need someone this much and not have told them all of it when they were still alive?

Still alive- God, Sherlock was dead. His best friend was dead but he still needed the other man so much.

He wondered if Sherlock needed him too. But that was ridiculous; the genius didn't need anything except The Game, anything that came with it was just a bonus. Like him and Greg.

He didn't count Moriarty as a bonus because he wasn't. Unlike him, Sherlock had seen  _Moriarty_ as a fundamental part of The Game; something- did Moriarty really deserve to be a 'someone'? Was he even human? No! That was ridiculous he reminded himself; Sherlock was human and Moriarty was basically Sherlock on the other side of the coin, the counter balance. He refused to think of Sherlock as anything but human- something so fundamental to The Game itself it could never be removed.

The counter balance.

The other half of Sherlock's coin.

He himself, was nothing in comparison. He, himself, didn't matter to the genius detective. Why would he?

But truly how could he not tell him? Tell him he was needed this much? Make sure he knew.

Maybe then he wouldn't have jumped?

Was it his fault Sherlock was dead?

Could he have stopped him?

What if-

No. No, 'what if's would never do any good. What happened happened and would always haunt him but he could not change it. He could not bring Sherlock back by thinking about what happened that day. What he could have done.

He had to carry on with his life.

Even if it wasn't truly worth it without the genius.

: :

_John,_

_If you are reading this then- at the risk of sounding cliché- I am dead. I'm sorry about that; he hassle it'll cause you. I hope one day you can find it within you to forgive me for leaving you, I know it must be hard for you- believe me it was hard to sit down and write this too; knowing it was goodbye, knowing I'd never see you again. Never hear your laugh or see your smile, to see your progress and notice your intellect. So hard John, all this was hard and painful and I will miss you forever though I have given up any right to- but I hope you can forgive me._

_I want to warn you that there is a system set up to send one letter every month. This one should have come exactly a week after my death, all going to plan, and they shall continue from there. I feel it best to warn you of this; I understand it may be hard for you to read these but I hope you do. I even hope to God you do, though I still don't believe in him, besides, John, can you imagine me in heaven or hell- wherever I end up- I'd cause havoc. And that's an understatement._

_I understand that neither of us is particularly religious but you must understand John, I must believe I'll see you again. I must; it is as essential as air and The Game once were to me._

_I miss you John, already, and you just walked out the door of the hospital. I know I'll never see you again. That hurts the most John, not even Moriarty being right can compare to how much that hurts. I hope you can understand that John, for hope is all I have left._

_Goodbye John. Though I'm sure I've already said Goodbye but if I did not get the chance then I am truly sorry and know that it was even harder to jump._

_Yours forever,_

_Yours always,_

_Sherlock Holmes._

 


	2. It's Such a Mystery...

When the next letter came John didn't even open it just sat and stared at the familiar scrawl of his name on the front.  _'Dr J. H. Watson'_ made John want to cry and rip up the letter and laugh all at once. Oh god, why did this have to happen? Why couldn't the bloody sod leave him alone even after he died? He had to keep making John  _remember,_ he couldn't just leave him to be depressed.

He hated everything that had happened in the last two months from the moment the last words left Sherlock's mouth to the moment this new hell was unleashed upon him; the monthly letters that were just torture.

This fresh hell wouldn't let him forget but that's the only thing John wanted to do.

So of course John put the letter with the other one; in the box, under his bed so he could forget it. And he did, well, that's what he told himself he did.

: :

John was sat at his desk in the surgery shrouded in darkness with only his lamp to show him the files he was working on. The door opened and light flooded the room but a moment later it was blocked out as someone- Sarah- stood in front of his desk.

"John, go home."

John didn't even look up from the files he was working his way through. "No Sarah."

"Why not, you're obviously exhausted!" He could hear frustration and worry in her voice but he just couldn't bring himself to care.

"I have to finish these files."

He was lying- he knew it. He set his pen down on top of the open patient profile. Without the scratching of it working over the paper the room seemed empty, despite Sarah's panicked voice, which sounded muted to John's ears.

"No you don't! For God's sake John you really don't! Not for months." Sarah sounded desperate and worried. "You're scaring all of us John."

"Us?" He still refused to look up.

"Molly phoned; she said Greg phoned her as well. People at the yard are worried, so is Mrs Hudson for that matter." Sarah sounded desperate now.

John finally looked up with blank, dead eyes that made Sarah flinch. He saw, he didn't care. "Why should any of you care?"

"Because we're you're friends John!"

John stood quickly and turned away. "Leave it well alone Sarah."

"No, John! Please, John, see sense!-"

"What sense is there?!" John felt irrational anger spring from nowhere; Sherlock was dead, his best friend was dead and everyone was expecting him to be unchanged!

"Oh for God's- John! When he jumped off that bloody building it's like you hit the ground with him!"

John fell back against the wall as if he'd been physically hit, he could feel colour rising in his cheeks. He hissed out from between gritted teeth, "And what? You thought I'd be fine? You thought I'd be  _unchanged_ because of this?" John clenched his teeth together and stood up straight heading to the door. "You know what, Sarah? Fuck you! Leave me alone and tell everyone to stop worrying because, oh yes, I'm  _fine_."

: :

_John,_

_Do you realise just how strange- how wrong- it is for me not to see you every day? To have to live my life without you? I understand that I won't be living for much longer but even the idea of being without you- of having to face the world alone- is horrific, repulsive even._

_I cannot imagine what you are going through having to face this waking nightmare of not having a friend with you. Though I cannot presume to be your friend; I cannot even presume that you will miss me. I can only hope, John, I hope and pray- in fact since I have realised I must die (and yes unfortunately I must John- I can't think of any other way and believe me I have tried to think of another way because leaving you is so painful John, so very painful.) I have been doing a lot of praying; I don't know who to- maybe Mycroft (don't tell him that; we don't need his head to explode)- but the truth is, John; if I got into some trouble I couldn't fix myself Mycroft would and always could fix it. That little kid who he always saved is me and I need saving from myself John._

_But I'm not stupid and you know that now, don't you? I jumped because of my intellect but I am incredibly stupid because now- now when I realise this all- it is too late to stop. Too late to go back. Too late to tell you anything._

_All I want is to be back in 221b with you watching crap TV and trying to figure out the mystery that is you, Dear John, that's all I want and instead I'm planning how to die._

_I'm so sorry for that; I will regret it for the rest of my life, however short that is._

_Yours forever,_

_Yours always,_

_Sherlock._ **  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is the new chapter of This Life (finally) and we (C) know(s) that we're (I'm) meant to be working on This Is Your Heart and Coming Down and new stories and everything but we (I) thought we'd (I'd) give you a present.
> 
> So yeah, we have a tumblr! So come and visit us! We're always there to chat, answer questions, fill requests and post chapter updates:
> 
> cute - will - kill . tumblr
> 
> Please comment and tell us what you think! 
> 
> From M and C.


	3. So Tell Me All Your Secrets

John put the letter in the box with the others. No looking, he just couldn't bring himself to.

: :

John lay next to Sherlock.

Well his grave anyway.

He needed someone to talk to- someone to understand- and that someone had to be Sherlock. He was the only one who got it. Got that John needed danger, needed it like Sherlock had. He was the only one who really understood John, truly got him. Even his parents and sister, his best friends, didn't understand anything.

So what did that make Sherlock?

He'd always resisted people labelling them as a couple. He'd always insisted he wasn't gay. Wasn't with Sherlock.

Maybe he'd been wrong.

Wrong to do that; wrong to push the other man away?

"Sherlock? Did you ever... Want me? Like that…?" John sighed and rolled over in the long grass, closing his eyes as the sun hurt his eyes. It was a hot day, obviously unusual for London, but it meant John could lie here in the soft grass and talk to his one person who understood.

"I'm sorry if I ever hurt you by... protesting..." John sighed flopping back onto his back to look up at the sky. "I just... I never thought..."

John ran out of words at that point and just lay there staring at the clouds for what could have been minutes or hours.

"Sherlock? I think I loved you..." John whispered to the grave. "...Wow..." John turned to the side to look at Sherlock's name etched into the gravestone. "I don't know but... But I think I did."

John began to cry slowly. "Oh God; I'm a fool. I missed out on possibly being with you because of being stupid and stuck in my ways. I'm sorry Sherlock..."

John pushed himself up and stood slowly. "'Bye Sherlock; I'll see you soon, okay?" John sighed and began to walk away. "I'm a fool..."

: :

_Dear John,_

_Well this is month three. How strange it is, for me, to say that; three months without me._

_Three months with me dead._

_That's a very odd thing for me to think about, as I sit here in the lab with its cold, hard and fluorescent lights. I never thought I'd have someone like you in my life- someone who likes me, cars for me- thank you for that._

_But you're also someone to leave behind._

_Mycroft, Greg, Mrs Hudson; they'll all be fine. They'll move on, they'll cope. I'm not sure about you. You care so much about everyone, even me, I don't know how you'll react._

_Will you grieve? Will you be able to move on? In a selfish way, I hope this is the case._

_I know that's an awful thing to want. To hope for you to be in pain but in a way that will mean you truly cared, won't it? It'll show you cares about me, maybe not to the level I care for you, but you will have._

_On the other hand, you being able to move on makes me feel happy. So happy. For you to be without pain because of my decisions would mean I could, quite possibly, rest in peace._

_I hope, either way, you can find peace. In some way. At some point. I'm sorry I won't be there to see it._

_Yours forever._

_Yours for always._

_Sherlock._

 


	4. And Only You...

Mrs Hudson brought this months letter up for John. When she found him making tea in the kitchen she just had to ask.

 

"Is he still alive?"

 

John turned quickly, frowning. "Is who still alive?" It wasn't like he didn't know who she was talking about but he had to ask anyway.

 

"Is... Is Sherlock still alive?" Mrs Hudson held the letter out with a quivering hand.

 

John snatched it quickly out of her hand turning the letter over to find the familiar address written in a completely familiar hand. "Oh..." It was his monthly ghost, come back to haunt him.

 

"John? John, what's going on?" Mrs Hudson sounded a little hysterical by this point. "We buried him, John, he can't still be alive. Can he?"

 

"No." Came the whispered reply.

 

Mrs Hudson drew a shuddering breath. "Then how, young man? Explain."

 

John resisted a flinch at the familiar nickname being directed at him. He tried not to remember his friend shooting the wall or putting horrible things in the fridge to deserve that title.

 

"He... He wrote me letters, before he died. One comes every month." John barely registered how blank he sounded. "I wasn't sure if I was going crazy that first month when one came..."

 

Mrs Hudson nodded slowly. "What do they say? What did he talk about?"

 

"I don't know, I don't read them; I can't... I just put them in a box."

 

"I could read them for you if yo-"

 

"No! I don't want to know! Not now." John sighed. "Thank you, Mrs Hudson." He clutched the letter closer to his chest and turned away, signalling he was done talking about it.

 

"Okay, John..." Mrs Hudson whispered.

 

: :

 

_Dear John,_

_I'm not even gone and I miss you, so much it hurts. Thinking about you alone? Thinking of not being with you? That hurts me._

_If I had died suddenly I'm not sure if my pain would've been as great as this._

_Knowing I'll hurt you by doing what I plan to do? It makes me want to not go through with it. So that I don't hurt you. I mean, if one day I'd been run over or just dropped down dead it would've been better for me, I think._

_Unfortunately for you, I think it would've been the same. My death was sudden for you, not premeditated._

_There's studies that show that when people know that their loved ones are sick and could die they are more prepared for their deaths. You accept it more readily or don't grieve as long. You expect that death._

_But suddenly? That rips your soul apart._

_And the thought of doing that to you is so painful._

_I'm not sure how you'll grieve for me, if at all. I've written about it before, I know. But I still don't know. You've suffered through pain before, lots of it I'm sure._

_You're strong, John. So strong to me._

_Be strong for me now, okay?_

_Yours forever._

_Yours for always._

_Sherlock._

**Author's Note:**

> Come and see us on cute-will-kill on tumblr, we'd love to hear from you!  
> Any support is appreciated!  
> The name for this fic comes from the song This Life by Ryan Huston, as do the chapter titles.


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